


On Chocolate Chips and Calculators

by katnisskirk



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:10:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnisskirk/pseuds/katnisskirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is, as of right now, a series of scenes in a college AU written for <a href="http://meleexrose.tumblr.com/">meleexrose</a> for Sterek Secret Santa 2015.</p>
<p>I anticipate adding more to this, if anyone actually wants more. If so, I'll probably try to fill it out a bit more, maybe add a real plot. Just let me know! Here or on <a href="http://katniss-kirk.tumblr.com/ask/">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

It was the first day of his second semester of junior year and Stiles was, for some god awful reason, in a great mood. There was no sensible explanation. His first class was some stupid requirement he’d been putting off, Psychology 101, also rumored to be one of the most useless classes offered by the college. Apparently the professor was extremely old, maybe a little bit senile, and had been for quite a few years if the gossip was to be believed. 

 Stiles definitely believed it. The rumor mill about professors was surprisingly reliable. 

 Now, if he could find the damn lecture hall, maybe he could find out for himself just how incompetent this old man (woman?) was. It had to be here somewhere. He’d just walked by 104, and 106 was right over there, and he was 99% positive that 5 was still between 4 and 6?

 “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Okay, where the fuck is it?” he grumbled under his breath, getting a little annoyed at this seemingly invisible room. Last he knew, there wasn’t really such a thing as magic and the Room of Requirement was, sadly, purely fictional. 

 “105, 105, why the fuck can’t I find 105?” he singsonged, refusing to let this minor inconvenience mess up his beautiful day.

 “You’re standing right in front of it.”

"What? How—” Stiles started, then looked in the direction of the voice and was greeted by two astonishing sights. One, a shiny plaque that read “105” in huge print, hung right on the wall beside the door, and two, probably the most attractive human being he’d ever laid eyes upon. 

“Oh,” Stiles tried to recover with a hearty chuckle, but he was pretty sure it came out more like a mangled snort. Who the fuck was this guy and how had they never seen each other before?

“Yeah. Doors locked.”

“Great. Have you had this professor before?” Stiles asked, before his mind had a chance to supply any other less appropriate topics of conversation. 

 “No.” The guy wore an expression of complete indifference.

 Stiles nodded, then before he could stop himself, started talking again. “So, are you taking this because you want to or because you have to?”

 “Does anyone take this class because they want to?”

Stiles grinned. Was that a joke? “Okay, point taken.”

 The hot guy whose name Stiles would probably never know didn’t say anything else and Stiles tried, he really tried to keep his mouth shut.  

‘Tried’ being the key word.

“Shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, more people waiting here?” he asked, after a few more minutes. Why was the professor so late and why was no one else waiting?

“You would think so.”

“Maybe we have the wrong time?” Stiles offered, shooting another glance around the hallway and finding not a single other person milling about.

“It says, Intro Psychology, 105A White Hall, 8:30 to 9:45.”

“Wait,” Stiles threw his hands in the air, gesturing wildly. “Room 105 _A_? Where the fuck is room 105 _A_?”

Someone coughed, and Stiles whirled around to see an elderly female professor giving him a look of such disapproval that even Lydia would have been impressed. 

Stiles wanted to melt into the wall, but since that was physically impossible, he mumbled a quick, “Uh, sorry, professor.” 

“I’m sure you are,” was all she said, but her tone left Stiles feeling chastised.

“By the way, room 105A is right here,” she called back, from where she stood holding the door open.

Oh god. 

What a way to start the semester. 


	2. TWO

Derek hobbled his way into the floor’s bathroom, his eyes half shut even as he scooped up his various showering items.

He yawned, going on autopilot towards what he had come to call his shower, barely managing to avoid tripping over his own towel. It was the only one with a normal amount of water pressure, and even though the temperature had a tendency to shift from scalding to ice bath with the slightest nudge, it was his favorite. 

He was just about to slide the curtain open when, lo and behold, someone was using his shower. Again.

This was at least the tenth time in the last two weeks. 

He decided that today was going to be the day he put a stop to this nonsense.

To start, he needed to figure out who this asshole was. Probably some stupid freshman who would hopefully be too intimidated to argue about the situation. 

So he waited, leaning against the wall opposite the shower stall. Whoever it was clearly had no idea Derek was there because the guy started to sing some pop ballad at the top of his lungs. 

To be honest, his voice wasn’t all that bad. It was actually pretty decent. Not that Derek was going to share that thought. 

When the water finally shut off, Derek straightened, readying himself for the coming argument. It should be over quickly, but he needed to intimidate the guy from the start. 

The shower curtain slid open and—oh for fuck’s sake, really?

“It’s you?”

For the first time since opening the curtain, the guy seemed to register Derek’s presence. He jumped and almost dropped his towel, if not for some miracle that kept the piece of fabric between his fingers.

“Uh, me? What did I do?”

“This is my shower.”

“It is?” the guy looked thoroughly confused. He glanced around him like he wasn’t sure where he was. “Wait—what the hell are you talking about?”

Derek huffed. How else was he supposed to say it? “You’re using my shower.”

The guy laughed, then started walking back towards his room, and Derek followed, not done with this conversation in the slightest. When he noticed Derek tagging along behind him, he started talking. 

“Considering this is the floor bathroom, I don’t think you can call this your shower. Anyways, I use this damn shower every day, how can you say it’s yours? If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine! It’s the only shower with decent water pressure and I’m not going to just roll over and die because you’re a big grump in the morning.”

Derek just stared, completely taken aback by the audacity of this charming adorable snotty little jerk. Who did he this he was, trying to upset the hierarchy of things? Derek was a senior. It was his shower. It had been for the past 3 years. 

He would have shared some of this information had the guy not slammed his door right in Derek’s face. 

Okay, so that’s how it was going to be.


	3. THREE

Derek woke to the sound of panicked shouting in the hallway outside his room. He blinked, stumbled out of bed and over to his door before he even had a chance to process the situation. 

The volume of the shouting reached a peak, and Derek threw open his door, ready to—well, he wasn’t all that sure what he was planning to do. But something. Something had to be done. 

“Oh thank god, someone is still here!” Ah, of course. Shower guy. Why couldn’t Derek get away from this asshole? 

“What are you doing? Are you fucking insane?” he growled. Trying to make sense of this situation on less than 2 hours of sleep was not working out. 

Shower guy almost choked in an attempt to get words out of his mouth fast enough, “I’m sorry—do you—I mean—ugh!”

Derek actually started to get a little worried. Clearly something was wrong. Sure, he disliked the guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted him to suffer through a panic attack. God knows Derek had done that enough times in his own life to know it wasn’t exactly an enjoyable experience. 

“Are you…okay?” 

“No! I mean, yes, but—jesus. Calm down Stiles,” he sucked in a deep breath, then brought his full attention back to Derek. “I have a physics exam in 25 minutes. I need a calculator. Like a scientific calculator. Mine broke. Please tell me you have one!”

Derek blinked, trying to process everything he’d just listened to. “Your professor can’t let you borrow one?”

“She’s a bitch, okay. There’s no time to explain. Just—do you have a calculator? I’ll pay you for it, I just need to borrow it for a couple hours. Please.”

As a matter of fact, he did have a calculator. He just wasn’t sure if he should let this guy borrow it. After all, he had been the bane of Derek’s existence for the last few weeks. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Derek slipped back into his room. He knew he’d left the calculator somewhere on his desk, probably underneath several layers of papers and textbooks.

When he finally returned to the hallway, the guy—Stiles?—was pacing outside his door, looking 3 seconds away from an actual anxiety attack. 

“Hey, you can borrow mine. Just make sure you bring it back.”

Stiles nearly collapsed at the words, clearly relieved. Again, he tried to say too much at once and ended up making very little sense. “Oh my god—You don’t—This is—I have ten dollars?”

Derek sighed. He felt bad. Why did he feel bad? “It’s fine, just bring it back.”

Stiles gaped at him, seemingly just as unable to process the situation as Derek was. 

“Go, before you’re late.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” he exclaimed, nearly tripping over his own feet in an attempt to start running towards the door. Derek barely heard him mutter under his breath, “I’m so stupid. What’s wrong with me?”

He sounded just like, well, like Derek. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had impossible standards for himself. 

After a beat, Derek shouted after Stiles, who stopped short and whirled around. “Stiles! You’re going to be fine. You’ll do great.”

He didn’t wait around for a response, just turned, slipped back into his room, and tried valiantly to avoid thinking about what he’d just done.


	4. FOUR

Stiles shut the oven door with a little too much force, the loud bang echoing around the kitchen. A moment later, he heard the sound of someone’s door slamming.

Oh shit.

Someone pushed the kitchen door open with enough force to send it straight into the wall. 

“Oh shit.” 

It was that guy again. 

And he wasn’t wearing a shirt. It was a cruel Universe they lived in.

“Stiles.” He didn’t sound very happy. Baking cookies at 3 am was maybe not such a good choice? Best to completely change the subject, then. 

“Uh—you know, I don’t even know your name.”

“Derek.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Cool name. Really fits you. I’m glad I can stop referring to you as—never mind. It’s just nice to know your actual name.” What was he even talking about? God. Shut up Stiles.

Derek just stared at him with eyebrows raised, his arms crossed over his bare chest. “What are you doing?” 

“Cookies?” Stiles blurted, gesturing at the oven and then the rest of the baking supplies strewn about the room. Noticing the huge mess and really needing a distraction from Derek’s abs, he quickly began to move dishes to the sink to wash. “I’m baking cookies.” 

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, sleeping?” Well, he certainly didn’t look like he’d been asleep. 

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Maybe I was asleep.” He definitely was not. Stiles knew that look. Exhausted, but awake. Always awake. 

“Sure. Anyways, I couldn’t sleep. So I’m making cookies.”

“What kind?”

“The only kind worth eating. Chocolate chip!”

Derek nodded, seeming pleased with this information. “How was your test?”

Stiles flinched, dropping the metal bowl he was washing with a clatter. Why was this happening? Why was Derek so hot? Why was he so thoughtful? 

“It was fine. I couldn’t really focus so I probably failed. But thanks for the calculator.” He talked into the sink, too embarrassed by his behavior that morning to face Derek now. Why did he have to bring it up?

“No problem. I don’t usually need it.”

Reality suddenly punched Stiles in the gut. He chanced a look at Derek, and was greeted with raised eyebrows and a scowl. Of course Derek wasn’t here to hang out. He wanted his shit back. “Oh. Oh my god, I’m sorry. I have it in my room if you want it now?”

Derek held up his hands, looking about as panicked as Stiles felt. “No, no, it’s fine. You can honestly just keep it, if you want.”

Stiles blanched. What was happening right now? “No. That’s not—I’ll go get it for you.”

He shut off the water and hurried for the door. This entire awful situation could have been avoided if he hadn’t dropped his fucking calculator that morning.

“Stiles, please.” Derek caught his sleeve, drawing him back into the kitchen. “It’s fine.”

“I couldn’t possibly take it without paying.”

Again with the raised brows. What was up with that? How was he supposed to respond?

Then Derek smiled, said, “Let me have a few cookies and we’ll call it even?” and it was like Stiles had just discovered the meaning of life. 

Maybe he should have broken his calculator sooner.


End file.
